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BY RICHARIJBVRTON 




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COPYRIGHT BY COPELAND AND DAY 13 



CONTENTS 




Apology 

Dumb in June 

The City 

Across the Fields to Anne 


Page I 

7 
9 


Of One Afflicted with Deafness 


1 1 


If We Had the Time 


[ 2 


Saint Cecilia 


H 


In a City Park 
Values 


*5 

16 


Day Laborers 


17 


A Potion 


18 


Two Mountains 


19 


The Awakening 
The River 


20 
23 


The Passing of the Birds 
October 


24 
2 5 


The Vanished Voice 


27 


Yesterday 

Compensation 

Day and Night 

Schoolboys 

In the Shadows 


29 

3i 

32 
32 
33 


Sea-Pictures 


34 


Song and Singer 
March Days 


36 
37 



CONTENTS 




In Delirium 


Page 38 


Unafraid 


41 


The Comfort of the Stars 


42 


From the Garden 




A Spring Thought 


47 


Still Days and Stormy- 


48 


Two Roses 


49 


A Meadow Fancy 


5o 


God's Garden 


51 


The Flower of Seven Changes 


5' 


A Group of Songs 




The First Song 


57 


Song in Absence 


58 


A Song of Meeting 


59 


Song of the Sea 


60 


Hearth Song 


62 


Daybreak Song 


63 


A Song of Life 


64 


Sonnets 




The Spirit 


69 


An Unpraised Picture 


70 


Wood Witchery 


7i 


Deserted Farms 


72 


Realists 


73 


Blank Verse 




In Sleep 


77 


The Lost Atlantis 


77 



CONTENTS 




Spirits of Summer 


Page 79 


Mortis Dignitas 


80 


Voices 


81 


Masks 


83 


The Bleak o' the Year 


85 


Early Winter 


86 


The Inappreciable Years 


87 


The Ultimate 





THE LYRIC POET'S APOLOGY 

I strive to probe to other hearts, and find 
I do but fret the phantom of mine own; 

I strain to paint great Nature, and my mind 
But images itself in every zone. 

The lesson learned, I sing Life's woven lay 

In syllables of Self, and can no other way. 



DUMB IN JUNE 

AND OTHER 

POEMS 



DUMB IN JUNE 



Ah, the thought hurts at my heart, 

Ah, the thought is death to singing. 
Dumb in June! to lack the art, 

The divine deep impulse bringing 
Power and passion in their train; 
To perceive the subtile wane 

Of the waters erstwhile springing 
Buoyant, brimful on the shore; 

Ebb-tide now for evermore! 
Song-tide o'er, no mounting moon 
With her white lures to the sea 
Surging once from depths of me, 

Till the earth and sky seemed ringing 
With the wild waves' melody, 
With their large, unfettered tune; 
/ Dumb in June! 



DUMB IN JUNE 

II 

Yet by sea and by land, 
In the water-wooed marshes or meadows 

wide-reaching and bland, 
The summer is regal and rich, the summer 

on every hand 
Spills largesses splendid to mortals, to 

women and men. 

For when 
Is the breeze sweeter fraught with the 

breath of the hay, 
Is the thrush-note more calm or the robin's 

loud lay 
More blithe, or the rose more the queen 

of the day ? 

Now say, 
What month is more bounteous in beauties, 

in balms, 

In lyrics, in psalms, 
In gold-heart fair fancies of sunset, and 

calms 
Of twilight, or after-glows wondrously 

clear ? 

One may hear 
The booming of bees and the brook's lulled 

refrain, 



DUMB IN JUNE 

The stream's liquid epic, the grasshopper's 

plain, 
The frog's bass reiterant languor at night, 
The day-long and dark-long sound-woof, 

interplight 
With dreamings and memories somber or 

bright. 

And yet, 
Oh, regret, 
Oh, pain that is death doubly keen, 
The Goddess of Song will not stead me, 

al-be she hath seen 
My anguish, my voiceless despair i' the 

midst of the green 
And glorious season that shimmers and 

sparkles and blows; 

Will not grant me the boon 
Of a single brief air that is born as the 

violet grows 
In the woods, shy-withdrawn from the outer 

world's welter and woes, 
To the sound of the treetops' dim croon. 
I am dumb, be it morning or noontide or 

eve; 
*Tis a thought that must haunt me and bid 

me to grieve, 

Dumb in June ! 



DUMB IN JUNE 

III 

A very miracle, 
I saw a moment gone: 
A honeysuckle, vine and bloom, 
Lustrous green and coral red, 
I glimpsed above my head 
Shedding a rapt perfume. 
And then this marvel fell 

That I would dwell upon: 
A bird — nay, rather say an airy sprite 

Compact of color, light, 
And a most ravishing power of flight, 
Darted from nowhere, somewhere, 

And alighted there, 
And sat at gaze a moment or twain, 
And then was off again. 
Not Wordsworth's cuckoo were a dearer 
guest 

Unto my quest, 
So insubstantial, spirit small 
And fleetsome in his call; 

Ah, ye know well 
It was the humming-bird whereof I tell, 
But there I drowsed, nor might with song 
commune, 

Dumb to this visitant frolicsome, 
Dumb in June ! 
4 



DUMB IN JUNE 

IV 

This mother-month of Summer holds her 
place 

Not only by the grace 
Attending on her many winsome ways, — 
Her flower-gifts, her bird-lays, 
Her bridal form and face, — 
But by what went before and cometh after; 
April tears, May blooms and laughter, 
September's blazonry, and then October 
Fruit-ripe and hushed and most imperially 
sober 
With sense of harvest dignity and worth. 

Thus, memory and expectation, 
Spring-gleams, fruitions of the fall, 
Encircle June and give unto her station 
A reverend look, a light historical; 
Child, maiden, matron, she is each and all: 
A poet must do her homage — but alas! 
The good days come and pass, 
Therewith the knowledge they are over 

soon, 
Yet from my pipe the vibrancy is fled, 

I may not music wed, 

But fain must lie grief-stricken in the grass, 

Dumb, dumb in June. 



5 



DUMB IN JUNE 



Now cease the querulous lament 
Of weakling discontent! 
All things must by their living learn to 
know 

The blight of silence, dearth and snow 
That covers up the goodship of the flowers. 

Our mortal hours 
Are shapen so; perchance when trees are 

bare 
And ice-tipped daggers hurtle through the 
air 

And death is everywhere, 
My lips shall be loosened for song, and the 

lyre 
Soft-touched with ethereal fire 
Shall quiver, suspire 
Sweet harmonies, motions ecstatic and 

higher 
Than any the loftiest pitch of my hope; 
Perchance neither snow-time nor rose-time 

gives scope 
To the music pent in me, in each seeking 
soul; 

May be that our goal, 
Our altar for singing lies elsewhere, afar, 

6 



THE CITY 

In a dream, in a star, 
And the slow-working leaven 
Of years shall make mortal immortally 
strong 

For song, 
For full hymning in Heaven! 

May it be, 
May the summers be strewn 
With hints and foretokens for heartening 

of me 
And hosts of my brothers, who yearn for 
the voice 

Wherewith to rejoice, 
Yet nathless remain 
Year through and life through and ever again 
Song numb, song dumb, 
Dumb in June ! 



THE CITY 

They do neither plight nor wed 

In the city of the dead, 

In the city where they sleep away the hours; 

But they lie, while o'er them range 

Winter-blight and summer change, 



DUMB IN JUNE 

And a hundred happy whisperings of 

flowers. 
No, they neither wed nor plight, 
And the day is like the night, 
For their vision is of other kind than ours. 

They do neither sing nor sigh, 

In that burgh of by and by 

Where the streets have grasses growing 

cool and long; 
But they rest within their bed, 
Leaving all their thoughts unsaid, 
Deeming silence better far than sob or song. 
No, they neither sigh nor sing, 
Though the robin be a-wing, 
Though the leaves of autumn march a 

million strong. 

There is only rest and peace 

In the City of Surcease 

From the failings and the wailings 'neath 

the sun, 
And the wings of the swift years 
Beat but gently o'er the biers, 
Making music to the sleepers every one. 
There is only peace and rest; 



8 



ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE 

But to them it seemeth best, 
For they lie at ease and know that life is 
done. 



ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE 



From Stratford-on-Avon a lane runs westward through 
the fields a mile to the little village of Shottery, in which 
is the cottage of Anne Hathaway, Shakspere's sweetheart 
and wife. 



How often in the summer-tide, 

His graver business set aside, 

Has stripling Will, the thoughtful-eyed, 

As to the pipe of Pan 

Stepped blithesomely with lover's pride 

Across the fields to Anne! 

It must have been a merry mile, 

This summer stroll by hedge and stile, 

With sweet foreknowledge all the while 

How sure the pathway ran 

To dear delights of kiss and smile, 

Across the fields to Anne. 

The silly sheep that graze to-day, 
I wot, they let him go his way, 
Nor once looked up, as who should say: 

9 



DUMB IN JUNE 

" It is a seemly man." 

For many lads went wooing aye 

Across the fields to Anne. 

The oaks, they have a wiser look; 
Mayhap they whispered to the brook: 
* 'The world by him shall yet be shook, 
It Is in nature's plan; 
Though now he fleets like any rook 
Across the fields to Anne.'" 

And I am sure, that on some hour 
Coquetting soft 'twixt sun and shower, 
He stooped and broke a daisy-flower 
With heart of tiny span, 
And bore it as a lover's dower 
Across the fields to Anne. 

While from her cottage garden-bed 
She plucked a jasmine's goodlihede, 
To scent his jerkin^ brown instead; 
Now since that love began, 
What luckier swain than he who sped 
Across the fields to Anne ? 

The winding path whereon I pace, 

The hedgerows green, the summer's grace, 

10 



OF ONE AFFLICTED WITH 

Are still before me face to face; 
Methinks I almost can 
Turn poet and join the singing race 
Across the fields to Anne! 



OF ONE AFFLICTED WITH 
DEAFNESS 

She moves about the house with meek con- 
tent, 

Her face is like a psalm from other years j 
She only guesses half of what is meant, 

But hides her impotence,her natural tears. 

Whenso we gather close for jest or tale 
She shuns the circle, lest it fret our mood 

To raise our voices till our joyance fail j 
She sits apart in patient quietude. 

And though we try to make her lot more 
bright, 
To set her in our midst and show her 
love 
(For she is lovesome), yet few glimpse 
aright 
Her desolation and the cross thereof. 



DUMB IN JUNE 

Dear God, may recompense be hers from 
Thee; 
May melodies from days gone by come 
back 
To fill her silence, and a symphony 

Played soft, of angels, soothe her sorry 
lack, 

That, while she sits and makes no least 
demur, 

Left much to loneliness and forced apart, 
She have companionship to comfort her, 

And hear a constant singing in her heart. 



IF WE HAD THE TIME 

If I had the time to find a place 
And sit me down full face to face 

With my better self, that cannot show 
In my daily life that rushes so: 
It might be then I would see my soul 
Was stumbling still toward the shining 
goal, ^ 

I might be nerved by the thought sub- 
lime, — 

If I had the time! 



IF WE HAD THE TIME 

If I had the time to let my heart 
Speak out and take in my life a part, 

To look about and to stretch a hand 
To a comrade quartered in no-luck 
land; 
Ah, God! If I might but just sit still 
And hear the note of the whip-poor-will, 
I think that my wish with God's 
would rhyme — 

If I had the time! 

If I had the time to learn from you 
How much for comfort my word could do; 
And I told you then of my sudden 

will 
To kiss your feet when I did you ill; 
If the tears aback of the coldness feigned 
Could flow, and the wrong be quite 
explained, — 

Brothers, the souls of us all would 
chime, 

If we had the time! 



13 



DUMB IN JUNE 



UNT CECILIA 
A woman with a charmed hand 

7 ''■'.: '■::' '' . . 7 \ . \ 

Whose home is in the mystic land 
Where poets sing and painters paint. 

^ears a soft and Old-World grace, 

With sounds that set the spirit free. 

The lily is her flower, and meek 
Her look is, as the flower's own; 

5:. 7 r.i'.r. r. : ; . - .:. :.t: .::•:. 
One thinks of her as oft alone. 

J. _- 7- ■ -":"-:• 7-. ;.:;-.:. i* . -.r-7. 
And made her beautiful, yet missed 

T .7 -. : ..r.7 e. ::.7 : tr. - t ii: 

1 : " ; r. 7 " . . : ■ t :'i :t ..._-;. ..::' : . ..i; ^.it:. 

And Carlo Dolci tried, nor railed: 
7 : ilia sits and plays, and seems 
A saint whose soul is unassailed, 

- yet the woman of our dreams! 

'4 



IN A CITY PARK 



IN A CITY PARK 

A stretch of lawn as smooth as happiness, 
And tender green withal, and dappled 
o'er 
With shadows that the birches throw, 
unless 
A maple here and there throws shadows 
more. 
Beyond, the houses, spires, toilings, din, 
And all that makes a cityful of sin. 

And yet the sun's ashine, and, somehow, 

from 
This common scene, that 's trying to be 

fair, 
There's something rises in the city's hum, 
There's something brooding o'er the 

smoke and blare, 
That makes the place and time and people 

seem 
A beauty, and a promise, and a dream. 



*5 



DUMB IN JUNE 



VALUES 

I make apprisal of the maiden moon 

For what she is to me: 
Not a great globe of cheerless stone 
That hangs in awful space alone, 

And ever so to be; 
But just the rarest orb, 
The very fairest orb, 
The star most lovely-wise 
In all the dear night-skies! 

So thou to me, O jestful girl of June! 

I have no will to hear 
Cold calculations of thy worth 
Summed up in beauty, brain, and birth: 

Such coldly strike mine ear. 
Thou art the rarest one, 
The very fairest one, 
The soul most lovely-wise 
That ever looked through eyes! 



16 



DAY LABORERS 



DAY LABORERS 

They straggle down the street; the morn- 
ing light 
Is on their shiftless steps, their shoulders 
bent; 
They work with sinews lame — a grievous 
sight 
Of waning strength, of hope and courage 
spent. 

It seems sardonic thus to set them here, 
Old men and weary, in the day's fresh 
hour. 
What solace can be theirs, what sense of 
cheer, 
What puissant thought, what dream of 
transient power ? 

Few sadder things on earth than toilsome 
age 
Without its dignities, its honored hairs; 
A time of vacant mind and vassalage 

Before the last grim change from mortal 
cares. 



17 



DUMB IN JUNE 

And yet one benison the pilgrims know: 
For mother-church receives them, makes 
them glad 
With pomps and promises, yea, sets aglow 
These human hearts the sorry week-long 
sad. 

And I can bless her reverend ways and wise 
(Although in other symbols I am bred), 

Since she doth wipe the tears from piteous 
eyes 
And leaveth not the poor uncomforted. 



A POTION 

How brew the brave drink Life? 

Take of the herb hight morning-joy, 
Take of the herb hight evening-rest, 

Pour in pain lest bliss should cloy, 
Shake in sin to give it zest; 
Brew them all in the heat of noon, 
Cool the broth beneath the moon; 
Then down with the brave drink Life? 



18 



TWO MOUNTAINS 



TWO MOUNTAINS 

Monadnock looms against the pale blue 

dome 
Of sky, a monarch crowned with cloud 

and sunj 
Massive the moods of this rock-ribbed 

one 
In ways of God that seemeth most at 

home; 
An archetypal art those contours made, 
An elemental brush the colors laid. 

Type of New England, creature of her 

womb, 
Rugged yet beautiful, thy fearless front 
Preaches old freedom, and her sturdy wont 
And purity and faith and living-room; 
Fore-elder, thou, of simpler, saner days* 
When God meant prayer and Fatherland 

meant praise. 

So Emerson, whose land was made to thee 
In words of bardic wonder, was a peak 
Sprung from the same dear soil, and fain to 
speak 

19 



DUMB IN JUNE 

Faced skyward towards the heavens -1 clarity; 
The same New England gave him goodly 

birth, 
The same large mood, the same untired 

earth. 

Anjak of hills that take the questing eye, 
Great dominant thing in all this landscape 

wide, 
Twas meet that thou shouldst thus be 

magnified 
By him, that strength to strength should 

make reply: 
Monadnock, moveless, whatsoe'er the wind, 
Like Emerson midst shifts of humankind. 



THE AWAKENING 

The beauties of the world do master me: 
They put my soul in such a heavy swoon 

I may not sing of half the love I see 

Beneath the sun, beneath the lady moon. 

Love, wake me from this languor deep, 
that I 

May truly sing of beauty ere I die. 






20 






THE AWAKENING 

Wake me by bending down thy dreamful 
face 
And touching lips to mine swoon- 
bounden; then 
My soul shall leap and quiver in its place, 
And I shall turn the mightiest of men, 
A master there, with Earth and Sky my 

slave, 
Because of that one kiss my mistress gave. 

Day's sweetest flower shall witness t& me 

make, 
Night's boldest star send messages of fire, 
And all the birds that be, for love's sole 

sake, 
Shall quicken wing to come at my desire; 
While hearts of humankind hot-beating, 

cold, 
Draw nigh and house with me till days are 

old. 

The morning's challenge in the changeful 
east — 

A challenge to the heart to live anew — 
Shall steal into whatever words the least 

My song shall fashion tenderly and true. 



DUMB IN JUNE 

The wonder of the sundown in the west 
Shall shine again, and so be twice expressed. 

The sweetest sounds of music shall unite 
My dreams to sister-dreams, as rosaries 
Of carven beads are set and strung aright 
Upon some silken cord sad nuns to 
please: 
Each lovesome thought shall find a liquid 

sound, 
And Love be doubly Love so set around. 

The open fields shall offer honest cheer, 
The woods, wind-shaken, sing a wel- 
come-song, 
And every wight who haunts the wood- 
lands dear 
Shall rate me as a mate to shield from 
wrong. 
The sea the secret of his monotone, 
An age-old thing, to me will tell alone. 

Such powers shall be mine because you 
came 

And kissed me once \ whereat the deep- 
est bliss 



THE RIVER 

That ever mortal knew ran swift aflame 
Straight to my soul, and taught me only 
this: 
To step into the very deep of Love 
And make my nest and sing the joy thereof. 



THE RIVER 

There was a mighty river that I knew 
In time long-by; it made me hold my 
breath 
To watch its wondrous ways — so wide it 
grew, 
So plain the darker eddies spoke of death, 
The lads that dared to swim it were so few ! 

Man grown, to-day I muse the stream 
beside, 
And smile, remembering — for *t is a 
span 
And nothing more to reach across its tide, 
While in the blackest pools your eye may 
scan 
The bottom, where the minnows hunt and 
hide. 



*3 



DUMB IN JUNE 

Mayhap the rivers will not shrink to streams, 
In that dim land that lies beyond our dreams. 



THE PASSING OF THE BIRDS 

From out the heart of an autumnal day 
A sound unwonted took the listening ear; 

At first dim in the sky and far away, 
But ever waxing louder and more clear. 

And then a mighty shadow seemed to come 
Between the sun and me, and all the air 
Shook vibrantly, gave forth a grave, great 
hum, 
Till heaven became a populous thorough- 
fare 

Of strenuous wings that beat the blue in 
time; 
Birds numberless, yet one in joy of flight 
And the desire to make a warmer clime 
Wherein to mate and nest and have 
delight. 

A hundred wind-harps played in unison 
Their passing was, a sight of buoyancy 

*4 



OCTOBER 

Beyond us earthlings; of my memories, one 
Most fraught with sense of fetterless 
grace and glee. 



OCTOBER 

Now is the world a-muse, and earth and sky 

Are in a pact of uttermost content; 
Pan's mood is pensive, Beauty passes by 
With steps loath-lingering and all be- 
sprent 
With colors o'er her garments of Delight, 
Along the stream and up the mountain 
height. 

The shocks of corn stand ghostly gray a-row, 
Weird Indian chiefs who brood on tribal 
wrongs 
And ultimate requital; all aglow 

Is every swamp with maples, and the 
songs 
Of crickets blend in most harmonious wise 
Into the azure landscape's dreams and dyoe. 

The yellowing birches and the elms do 
make 



*5 



DUMB IN JUNE 

The road a slumbrous way through 
wonderland} 
The sumach startles you to wide-awake, 

So vivid is her crimson 5 nigh at hand 
Or far afield the dog-wood burns, and fills 
With witchery of garnet wolds and hills. 

Like fire the huckleberry vines across 
The meadows run 5 soft sleep the gray 
old stones, 
The fences in their eld of time and moss, 
Save when all-blazoned by the clambering 
zones 
Of woodbine, magical for shaded reds: 
Hard by the asters lift their bloomy heads. 

Beside bronzed oaks the fruity chestnuts 
drop 
Their glossy burthens down, a sylvan 
scene; 
Granges innumerable groan as crop 

On crop is gathered in; the air is keen 
With scent of smoke, the pied leaves fall 

to earth 
In ruddy troops, for burial and rebirth. 



26 









THE VANISHED VOICE 

O splendid beauty of the day! O eve 

Made luminous by the punctual harvest 
moon, 
The sun's close comrade! weave and inter- 
weave 
Your changes, for the season shifts o'er- 
soon, 
Evanishing while still we deem it here; 
Such transient loveliness is twofold dear. 

Now is the year's recessional; for though 
Her robes are richer- wrought than in the 
spring, 
What time the proud procession paced slow 
Up the vast church of Nature's fashion- 
ing, 
Soon moans — these pulsing pomps left far 

behind — 
Down unillumined aisles the requiem wind. 



THE VANISHED VOICE 

There stood a tree beside his boyhood's 

door 
That faced the west and often, just before 



27 



DUMB IN JUNE 

The sundown, seemed transfigured with 

the light 
That flooded in and keen upon his sight 
Burned images of flame. And from the 

tree 
Fluted a nameless bird so goldenly 
He seemed part of the sunset and the sky. 

The listener has listened for that cry 
Of love and longing many a weary time 
And heard it never, nor can mortal rhyme 
Encompass all its sweetness: could the 

place, 
The homely homestead and the subtle grace 
Of youth return, the magic moment when 
The western sun shows heaven to earth- 
doomed men, 
But transiently, perchance the chanting 

bird ' 
Would be there too, perchance his voice 
were heard. 

The listener listens vainly; song is rife 
Still in the world, still love illumines life; 
But he would give the all of after years, 
Its triumphs, wisdoms, and revealing tears, 



28 



YESTERDAY 

To list that little bird-soul from its nest 
Leap into lyric rapture, sink to rest, 
Youth in the air and sunset in the west. 



YESTERDAY 

My friend, he spoke of a woman facej 
It puzzled me, and I paused to think. 

He told of her eyes and mouth, the trace 
Of prayer on her brow, and quick as 
wink 

I said: " Oh yes, but you wrong her years. 

She *s only a child, with faiths and fears 
That childhood fit. I tell thee nay$ 
She was a girl just yesterday. " 

"The years are swift and sure, I trow ** 
(Quoth he). "You speak of the long 
ago." 

Once I strolled in a garden spot, 
And every flower upraised a head 

(So it seemed), for they, I wot, 

Were mates of mine; each bloom and 
bed, 

Their hours for sleep, their merry mood, 

*9 



DUMB IN JUNE 

The lives and deaths of the whole sweet 
brood, 
Were known to me 5 it was my way 
To visit them but yesterday. 

Spake one red rose, in a language low: 
" We saw you last in the long ago." 

Entering under the lintel wide, 

I saw the room; 't was all the same: 
The oaken press and the shelves aside, 

The window small for the sunset flame, 
The book I loved on the table large; 
I ope'd, and lo! in the yellow marge 

The leaf I placed was shrunk and gray. 

I swear it was green but yesterday! 

Then a voice stole out of the sunset glow: 
" You lived here, man, in the long ago." 

'T is the same old tale, though it comes to 

me 
By a hundred paths of pain and glee, 
Till I guess the truth at last, and know 
That Yesterday is the Long Ago. 



30 



COMPENSATION 



COMPENSATION 

Within the desert, cowled and vigil-worn, 
The eremite in prayer and fasting bides j 

All world-delights his holy thinkings scorn: 
The Book, the crucifix, his only guides. 

But on a morn when flamed the rising sun 

And scared the panther from the open 

plain, 

The eremite, his night-time watching done, 

Broke bread, and would his missal con 

again. 

Then came a thought and slunk into his 
mind, 
Compounded half of lust and half of 
hate; 
And for an hour his soul was sick and 
blind, 
And he a worldling moaning at his fate. 

While in a city's most unholy place, 

There came unto a knave, a tippling clod, 

A thought as tender as a child's small face, 
And white as is the vestiture of God. 

3 1 



DUMB IN JUNE 



DAY AND NIGHT 

The day is a fair young hind, 

Gracile, with life athrill; 
She comes on feet of the wind 

When the light leaps over the hill, 

The night is a huge black hound 
As foul as the hind is fair, 

And he hunts her beauty to ground 
Till the morning sun cries Ware'. 



SCHOOLBOYS 

I could wish that death might come 
Like the respite to a task, 

Or a holiday hard-won. 

Life's long schooling burdensome 
Over now, so we may bask 

In a sense of duty done; 

In a sense of freedom wide 

Opening out on every side. 

Like to lads, who count the days 
To the glad vacation time, 



3* 



IN THE SHADOWS 

While their hearts go truanting; 
Though they walk appointed ways 
Duteously, the home-bells chime 
In their ears, the home-birds sing, 
And they hear their cronies call 
To some game or festival. 



IN THE SHADOWS 

As the shadows filled the room with peace, 
We spoke of our absent friends: 

How some were dead and some were sped 
To the far-away earth ends. 

And by some magic of yearning hearts, 
The lost seemed warm and near ; 

Yea, loved so much we could almost touch 
Their hands and feel them here. 

And when the lamps were lit, and speech 

Waxed merrier, yet the place 
Felt strangely bare, and each one there 

Missed some beloved face. 



33 



DUMB IN JUNE 
SEA-PICTURES 

FAR NIENTE 

Soft languors on the bosom of the deep, 
A blissful swoon that takes the sense in 
thrall} 

My hopes are dead, my memory is asleep, 
I only lie and watch the waters fall 

And lift, and let my tired spirit steep 
In sun and sea, as happy as a hound 
That lazes on a plot of grassy ground; 

Until the dim night shadows come and 
creep 
Between the day and me, and end it all. 

NIGHT NOISES 

No voice of crickets wearing through the 
night 
From skeins of dew in scented summer 

fields; 
No sleep-time chirp of birds, no tree that 
yields 
A solemn sigh when touched by breezes 

light, 
instead, a throb of engines in their might, 

34 



SEA-PICTURES 

The scurrying seamen with their weird 
To-ho ! 
The creak of ropes, the lapping of sad 

waves, 
That seem to grieve above forgotten graves, 
And gossip on lost ships of long ago. 

OFF THE HAVEN 

Up stole a fog, a chill and ghastly thing, 
That gloomed the sea and hid her face 
from me; 
My soul was like a bird with broken wing; 
A dismal bell warned homing barks 
away. 

Then shot a sun-shaft; like a phantom 
host, 
Born of the night and mailed in sullen 
white, 
The riven mists drew off and lo ! the coast 
Lay green and glad beyond the waters 
gray. 



35 



DUMB IN JUNE 



SONG AND SINGER 

I saw him once, the while he sat and 

played — 
A stripling with a shock of yellow hair — 
Hi* own rare songs, in mirth or sorrow 

made, 

But tender all, and fair. 

And as the years rolled by I saw him not, 
But still his songs full many a time I sung, 
And thought of him as one who has the lot 
To be forever young. 

Until at last he stood before mine eyes 
An age-bent man, who trembled o'er his 

staff; 
My sight rebelled to see him in such guise, 
Ripe for his epitaph. 

I grieved with grief that to a death belongs? 
How Time is stern I had forgot, in truth, 
And how that men wax old, whereas their 
songs 

Keep an immortal youth. 



3 6 



MARCH DAYS 



MARCH DAYS 



The world to-day is a nun in gray, 
And the wind is her wailing prayer 

To God, to give her a soul like May, 
Flower-sweet, white, and fair. 

II 

Still as a lake at even is the airj 

The heavens are hid; I mark not any- 
where 
A hopeful sign hung out by plain or hill; 
Only the etched brown trees and barren 
fields are there. 

How like a madman's dream the thought 
of June! 
Shall this warped pipe e'er swell with 
some soft tune 
That calls for liquid stops and languorous 
skill, 
The piper lying prone beneath a summer 
moon ? 



37 



DUMB IN JUNE 



III 



And magic of the spring! 
It seizes on this bleak and sullen thing 
Called March, and see! 

Bland skies, faint odor- umbering 

Faint bird songs in the bo^ 
A soft south wind, and, cradled in the 
-•-•■ . : i . 

As sweet as womanhood, 
As shy as any maiden lured by love, 
The dimlv flushed arbutus bloom above 

The harsh earth soon will peer, 

A:. _ April airs be he: 



IN DELIRIUM 

Lving in delirium, 
Fancies strange do flockwise comej 
Happy thoughts and bitter some. 

Now I rest on azure seas 

Bathed in light, and hear the wail 

•5 



IN DELIRIUM 



Of the waves, and seem to feel 
Languid lappings at the keel 
Of my boat, the while a breeze 
Pushes gently at the sail. 

Now I grope through rayless mines 
Searching for a gem whose beam 
I may use to guide me fair 
To the upper world of air; 
Search in vain for any signs 
Of its heart of fiery gleam. 

Now, again, I toss among 

Clouds that are with thunders charged; 
There amid the elements 
All my soul and all my sense 
Seems heroic grown, my tongue 

Touched with fire, my life enlarged. 

I am borne unto a place 
Like a paradise for flowers, 
Shade and sun, to hear aloft 
Dreamy songs and snatches soft, 
While below, a mystic bass 

Chants with measured beat the hours. 



39 



DUMB IN JUNE 



I am in the daylit street 
Of a city, and my hand 
Suddenly is grasped by one 
On whose grave the snow and sun 
Years and years have blown and beat 
Since he sought the Silent Land. 

But to one strange spot I must 
E'er return, and ever find 

What must always bring to me 
Lack of ease, and agony, 
Till the day that I am dust, 
All my anguish left behind. 

This it is: I see my love 

Holding forth beseeching arms, 
'Tired in white, and near as wan 
As the robe she rests upon; 
See a fearful storm above 

Swooping swift, and big with harms. 

Yet I may not move, nor go 
One sweet step to comfort her; 
Chains are on me, till I cryt 
Let me free , or let me diet 

40 



UNAFRAID 



God, the white face begging so! 
God, my limbs that may not stir! 

Lying in delirium, 
Fancies strange do flockwise comej 
Happy thoughts and bitter some. 



UNAFRAID 

A dialect beyond our ken, 

The accents of an unknown tongue, 
Life speaks, — this world of passing men 
That is incomparably old 
And sad with sinning manifold, 

Yet, with each morning, sweet and 
young. 

Yea, sweet and young it is, and plain 
Its meaning, — for a girl's light breath 

Outwits the wisdom that has lain 

Long centuries stored in reverend books. 

They doubt and dream; she, by her looks, 
Laughs down the lie of churlish death. 



4i 



DUMB IN JUNE 



THE COMFORT OF THE STARS 

When I am overmatched by petty cares 
And things of earth loom large, and 

look to be 
Of moment, how it soothes and comforts 
me 
To step into the night and feel the airs 

Of heaven fan my cheek; and, best of all, 
Gaze up into those all-uncharted seas 
Where swim the stately planets: such as 
these 

Make mortal fret seem slight and temporal. 

I muse on what of Life may stir among 
Those spaces knowing naught of metes 

nor bars; 
Undreamed-of dramas played in outmost 
stars, 
And lyrics by archangels grandly sung. 

I grow familiar with the solar runes 

And comprehend of worlds the mystic 
birth: 



4* 



THE COMFORT OF THE STARS 



Ringed Saturn, Mars, whose fashion apes 
the earth, 
And Jupiter, the giant, with his moons. 

Then, dizzy with the unspeakable sights 
above, 
Rebuked by Vast on Vast, my puny 

heart 
Is greatened for its transitory part, 
My trouble merged in wonder and in love. 



43 



FROM THE GARDEN 



I 

A SPRING THOUGHT 

In the spring I have leaned me full close to 

the bark of a tree, 
To know if its heart were athrob with spring 

passion and glee, 
And found that its longing was like to the 

longing in me. 

In the spring I have bent to the odorous lips 

of a rose, 
Await for the summer her virginal heart to 

unclose, 
And found her full fain of the spring-tide 

that blossoms and blows. 

In the spring I have harked to the bounti- 
ful song of a bird 

Outbreathing his joyance as plainly as ever 
man heard, 

Albeit his bliss be not caught in a crystal- 
line word. 

And so, when they tell me the bird-song, 
the rose, and the beat 



DUMB IX JUNE 

In the turbulent heart of the tree are sense- 
less though sweet 

Revealments of nature, spring-stirred by the 
spirit of heat, 

I laugh in my heart as one laugheth who 

knoweth the b 
And never I trust to such testaments cold, 

but I rest 
In the secrets the bird and the rose and the 

tree have confessed. 



II 
STILL DAYS AND STORMY 

Yesterday the wind blew 
Down the garden walks: 

Marigolds, the day through, 
Trembled on their stalks. 

But to-day the wind ' s dead, 

Marigolds are still: 
Miss thev what the wind said, 

Do they take it ill ? 

4S 



TWO ROSES 

Yesterday my love stood 
Hearkening to me; 

Fair flower of womanhood, 
All a-tremble she. 

But to-day she 's sad, still, 
Makes no true-love sign: 

Is her lover to her will, 
Is she yet mine ? 



Ill 

TWO ROSES 

A wild rose spake to a city rose: 

" How sad is your lot, your life! 
You miss the kiss of the wind that blows 
In the open field, where the glad stream 
flows, 
And the days with summer ^ife.' ,, 

The city flower softly smiled, 

For she knew what things are best: 



49 



DUMB IN JUNE 

" How little you dream of love, poor 

child! 
What time you are out in the tempest 

wild, 
I sleep on my lady ? s breast/ * 



IV 
A MEADOW FANCY 

In the meadows yonder the winged wind 
Makes billows along the grain; 

With their sequence swift they bring to 
mind 
The swash of the open main, 

Till I smell the pungent brine, and hear — 
Mine eyes grown dim — the cry 

Of the sailor lads, and feel vague fear 
Of the storm-wrack in the sky. 



50 



GOD^S GARDEN 

V 
GOD'S GARDEN 

The years are flowers and bloom within 

Eternity's wide garden; 
The rose for joy, the thorn for sin, 

The gardener God, to pardon 
All wilding growths, to prune, reclaim, 
And make them rose-like in His name. 

VI 

THE FLOWER OF SEVEN 
CHANGES 

(The hydrangea is so called by the Japanese.) 

At first, in early days 
Of summer-time, a blossoming of blooms 
Rich-tinted, delicate-dyed, as if the looms 

That wove it whirled in chambers dim 
with haze, 
In secretest fair rooms 



5' 



DUMB IN JUNE 

Of wonder and delight and rare designs, 
Wrought marvelous in hues and lovely 
lines. 

And then bland hours, wherein 
The pink grows into purple, fades to flame 
Likest to fire, yet never twice the same; 

Some petals white as love, some swart as 
sin, 
Subtle, inconstant, luring human eyes 
By soft evanishment and slow surprise. 

Thereto a somber mood 
Of duns and smoke-touched textures, 

dreamy glints, 

With here and there, for memory, warmer 

hints 

Of rose, or sunset yellow's quietude. 

This is her season of most calm release 

From mid-June passion; it is large with 

peace. 

Follows thereon a spell 
Of wraith-like flowers, aspen-thin and pale, 
Inwove with autumn reveries, the wail 

Of wind in leafless boughs a fitting knell 



5* 



THE FLOWER OF SEVEN 

Above her sometime splendor; yet a sight 
Ineffably harmonious, vaguely bright. 

And last, a death so still 
And all unviolent, you scarcewise miss 
The presence by the door, nor reckon this 

A perished beauty and a thwarted will. 
Nor is it: with the spring, behold her here, 
Protean, vital in the vernal year! 



SI 



A GROUP OF SONGS 



THE FIRST SONG 

A poet writ a song of May 

That checked his breath awhile; 

He kept it for a summer day, 
Then spake with half a smile: 

"Oh, little song of purity, 

Of mystic to-and-fro, 
You are so much a part of me 

I dare not let you go." 

And so he made a sister-song 
With more of cunning art; 

But held the first his whole life long 
Deep hidden in his heart. 



DUMB IN JUNE 



II 



SONG IN ABSENCE 



As a poet's rhyme-word looks and loving 
leans 
To the sister rhyme-word, set in the line 
below, 
My heart, in the late sun's blaze, in her 
yellow sheens, 
To you would leaping go. 

As a miner delves in the cool and dew- 
drained earth 
For the gold to grace his lady' s loveliness, 
My dreamings delve thy soul to know its 
worth 
And doubt the angels less. 

As a sea-bird, stayed by hindering hands 
ashore, 
Droops wing, her head yet holden toward 
the sea, 
Sore-sick to burst her bonds and waveward 
soar, 
So yearns my soul to thee. 

58 



A SONG OF MEE riNG 

If so that thou but mc-ward turn as well, 
Love-longing like to mine within thy 

heart, 
There 's neither peace of heaven, nor pain 

of" hell 

Shall keep us twain apart. 



Ill 

A SONG OF MEETING 

In the dales of" a distant valley, 
Where never a word is said, 
Where never a wind makes sally, 

And memory e'en is dead; 

At a tone when the light is breaking 
Over the dawn-touched dvc\\ 

At a time when the dreams of" waking 
Are mixed with the dreams of sleep; 

With the lace and the old behavior 

I loved in the long ago, 
When you were mv soul and savior, 

With the face and the form I know — 

59 



DUMB IN JUNE 

*T is thus, dear heart, I would greet you 
Through tears of a joy divine; 

* T is thus, dear heart, I would meet you, 
And make you forever mine! 



IV 

SONG OF THE SEA 

The song of the sea was an ancient song 
In the days when the earth was young; 
The waves were gossiping loud and long 
Ere mortals had found a tongue; 
The heart of the waves with wrath was wrung 
Or soothed to a siren strain, 
As they tossed the primitive isles among 
Or slept in the open main. 
Such was the song and its changes free, 
Such was the song of the sea. 

The song of the sea took a human tone 

In the days of the coming of man; 

A mournfuller meaning swelled her moan, 

And fiercer her riots ran; 

Because that her stately voice began 

To speak of our human woes; 

60 



SONG OF THE SEA 

With music mighty to grasp and span 
Life's tale and its passion-throes. 
Such was the song as it grew to be, 
Such was the song of the sea. 

The song of the sea was a hungry sound 

As the human years unrolled; 

For the notes were hoarse with the doomed 

and drowned, 
Or choked with a shipwreck's gold: 
Till it seemed no dirge above the mould 
So sorry a story said 
As the midnight cry of the waters old 
Calling above their dead. 
Such is the song and its threnody, 
Such is the song of the sea. 

The song of the sea is a wondrous lay, 

For it mirrors human life; 

It is grave and great as the judgment day, 

It is torn with the thought of strife; 

Yet under the stars it is smooth and rife 

With love-lights everywhere, 

When the sky has taken the deep to wife 

And their wedding-day is fair — 

Such is the ocean's mystery, 

Such is the song of the sea. 



DUMB IN JUNE 



HEARTH SONG 

Before the hearth I dream of many things. 

The red-eyed embers glow, dull down, 
expire; 
An evanescent life in each, that brings 

Sad omens for the Life that men desire. 

Will it not end in ashes, like the fire ? 

Not death is here, but change! Each spark 
that gleams 
Is pent-up sunlight, and the back-log's 
tune 
Repeats the music of the woods and 
streams. 
Bend low and listen; it is Nature's rune, 
Singing of summer, chanting soft of June. 



62 



DAYBREAK SONG 

VI 
DAYBREAK SONG 

Full sweet is the night locust-haunted, 

moon-kist, 
The noon-tide, strong creature and 

splendid; 
But dawn has a loveliness blended 
Of health and keen hope and a puissant 

delight 
In living, that shameth the languor of night 
Or stress of the noon with its urgence and 

plight. 

And so, when I list, 

Shaking slumber and sleep from mine 
eyes, 
Soft somnolence scorning, 
I love to be under the skies, 
I long to be up and away, 
I lust to be out with the day 
At light's first forewarning, 
When the winds are all whist 
And the magic of mist 
Is over the shine of the morning! 

63 



DUMB IN JUNE 

VII 

A SONG OF LIFE 

A song, boys, a song! 
Life is young yet, 
Love has tongue yet} 
Why should Life and Love go wrong ? 
Come, boys, a song! 

A song, boys, a song! 
Life *s at flush still, 
Love's ablush still; 

What though cares and curses throng ? 
Come, boys, a song! 

A song, boys, a song! 
Life is gray now, 
Love 's away now, 
We are left to limp along} 
Still, boys, a song! 









6 4 



A SONG OF LIFE 

A song, boys, a song! 

Death is here soon, 

Death will cheer soon, 

Death is nigh, and Love is strong; 

So, boys, a song! 



65 



SONNETS 



THE SPIRIT 

If so there were a spirit, poised in peace 
Above all wind-gusts in the heavens high, 
And he might mark us mortals laugh or 

cry, 
According as the gloomed clouds increase 
Or suns beguile them into golden fleece; 
Methinks he would be like to smile, to sigh 
(So placid he, so far within the sky, 
And knowing God's great love can never 

cease), 
That we the puny yet the prideful race 
Must change as skies change; be like babes 

that fret 
Whenso their yearning mother moves her 

breast 
To ease her mothering, or turns her face 
Aside a moment, reaching out to get 
Some wrapping soft to lull their limbs to 

rest. 



DUMB IN JUNE 



AN UNPRAISED PICTURE 

I saw a picture once by Angelo. 

" Unfinished," said the critic} "done 

in youth} *' 
And that was all, no thought of praise, 
forsooth ! 
He was informed, and doubtless it was so. 
And yet, I let an hour of dreaming go 
The way of all time, touched to tears and 

ruth, 
Passion and joy, the prick of conscience' 
tooth, 
Before that careworn Christ's divine, soft 
glow. 
The painter's yearning with an unsure 
hand 
Had moved me more than might his mas- 
ter days; 
He seemed to speak like one whose Mec- 
ca-land 
Is first beheld, though faint and far the 
ways } 
Who may not then his shaken voice com- 
mand, 
Yet trembles forth a word of prayer and 
praise. 

70 



WOOD WITCHERY 



WOOD WITCHERY 

The way ran under boughs of checkered 

green 
Where live things stirred, and sweet lights 

glinted through, 
And airs were cool and scented; well I 

knew 
It was New England, but this fresh 

demesne 
Was full of fabled folk no eye hath seen 
Yet every poet's heart must take for true: 
Dryads and hamadryads, satyrs too, 
And fountain-nymphs, and trolls of freakish 

mien. 
Then, like a flash, the oneness of the world 
Broke on me; mythland was not here or 

there, 
But wheresoeVr shy Fancy had unfurled 
Her wings, perceiving Nature young and 

fair; 
New England spelt but Arcady, the same 
Unaging beauty by another name. 



7i 



DUMB IN JUNE 



DESERTED FARMS 

Aforetime, fruitfulness and tilth were here. 

Snug granges held the harvests, acres broad 

Were rich in grass and grain ; the good- 
man's board 

Groaned with its plenty, and a rustic cheer 

Sat in the homesteads sprinkled far and near. 

To-day, prosperity no more is lord; 

Choked wells, roofs fallen, weed-grown 
ways afford 

A vision desolate and a memory drear. 

Sons of New England, your ingratitude, 

Like that once shown to tragic Lear, is 
base! 

For now ye scorn the teeming mother- 
breast 

That gave you strength, and in a vagrant 
mood 

Will turn to alien meadows of the West, 

Or toward the peopled cities set your face. 



72 



REALISTS 



REALISTS 



They peer at life with analytic eyes, 
And paint so patiently each several scene, 
You vow that naught is wrong, each shade 

and sheen 
Set on the canvas in full faithful wise. 
And yet it looks amiss, the picture lies — 
You hardly know wherein or how, I ween, 
For skies are blue, the summer grass is 

green, 
The men and women walk of proper size. 

Once I beheld a group of sorrowing men 
Who bent above the death-mask of a maid. 
The lines of the loved face were doubtless 

there, 
But as each looked he started back again 
As from a stranger, chilled and half afraid. 
Her features lacked the soul had made them 

fair. 



73 



BLANK VERSE 



IN SLEEP 

Not drowsihood and dreams and mere 

idless, 
Nor yet the blessedness of strength regained, 
Alone are in what men call sleep. The 

past, 
My unsuspected soul, my parents' voice, 
The generations of my forebears, yea, 
The very will of God himself are there 
And potent-working: so that many a doubt 
Is wiped away at daylight, many a soil 
Washed cleanlier, many a puzzle riddled 

plain. 
Strong, silent forces push my puny self 
Towards unguessed issues, and the waking 

man 
Rises a Greatheart where a Slave lay down. 



THE LOST ATLANTIS 

Deep in our soul-seas there are sunken 

hopes 
That once gleamed marble-white, pure 

shafts of stone 
With carvings thereupon of cryptic joy 



DUMB IN JUNE 

Long, long forgotten} streets submerged, 

that erst 
Were brave with every sign of festal life; 
And scented groves that stand for dreams; 

and near, 
Great towers stately builded, palaces 
For pleasure-making when the time was 

May; 
All dim in tangles of mermaiden's hair. 
The traffic of a world of elder time 
Choked potently by water, and engirt 
With grewsome shapes and growths 

beneath the brine. 

Deep in our soul-seas, drowned; while 

present waves 
Glide smoothly o'er the lost Atlantis, once 
So regnant in our Past; and summer sails 
Fleet onward toward new Western isles, 

since man 
Must ever gear him for new quests, and 

leave 
The mute memorials of the lapsed years. 



78 



SPIRITS OF SUMMER 



SPIRITS OF SUMMER 

Three creatures of the summer are to me 
Of spirit import. First, the milkweed dun, 
Diaphanous, most insubstantial wight 
Of plantkind — satin seeds in silken sheaths 
The winter long, a memory, not a flower 
That reckons bloom and fragrance as its 

due. 
Then the white birch, a ghost amongst its 

mates 
F the forest, glimmering-boled and phan- 
tom-tall, 
Crowned with a largess of most glossy 

leaves. 
And last the thrush, wood-hid, aloof and 

lone, 
A disembodied voice, a phantasy, 
That shapes the plastic soul to higher 

things. 
Three summer creatures good to know and 

love. 



79 



DUMB IN JUNE 



MORTIS DIGNITAS 

Here lies a common man. His horny hands, 
Crossed meekly as a maid's upon his breast, 
Show marks of toil, and by his general 

dress 
You judge him to have been an artisan 
Doubtless, could all his life be written out, 
The story would not thrill nor start a tear} 
He worked, laughed, loved, and suffered in 

his time, 
And now rests peacefully, with upturned 

face 
Whose look belies all struggle in the past. 
A homely tale: yet, trust me, I have seen 
The greatest of the earth go stately by, 
While shouting multitudes beset the way, 
With less of awe. The gap between a king 
And me, a nameless gazer in the crowd, 
Seemed not so wide as that which stretches 

now 
Betwixt us two, this dead one and myself. 
Untitled, dumb, and deedless, yet he is 
Transfigured by a touch from out the skies 
Until he wears, with all-unconscious grace, 
The strange and sudden Dignity of Death. 

80 



VOICES 



VOICES 



A man died yesternight. To-day the town 
Makes mention of his taking-ofT, and sums 
His virtues and his failings. On the street, 
Midst many barterings and lures of trade, 
In homes where he was known, in busy 

marts, 
Or public places where the commonweal 
Gathers the town-folk: up and down his 

name 
Is spoke of, in as various ways of speech 
As are the voices various sounding it: 
Gruff-throated bass, shrill treble of old age, 
Soft sibilancy of a woman's tongue, 
Or reed-like utterance of a little child. 
Thus one, his mate in business: "Ah! a 

shrewd 
Dry head was that; much loss to us, much 

loss. 
And as for heart " — wise shrug of shoul- 
ders now — 
"Well, 'tis but little quoted here on 

'change." 
Another, who had summered with him once 
In leisure-time : "A right good fellow gone ! 

81 



DUMB IN JUNE 

'T is true, he liked his ease; but who does 

not? 
For me, give me the man that Horace loved, 
Who deemed it wise to fool when season- 
able. " 
A tiny one who oft had found great store 
Of sweetmeats in his hand, and, prized far 

less, 
Great store of tenderness within his heart: 
"Oh, won't he come and see us any more ? " 
His surpliced pastor, bound to save his soul, 
Balanced a bit by inconsistencies 
He thought he saw, in private to his wife: 
"Alas, poor soul! if only he had grasped 
That matter of the creed, and made us sure! 
But then — his heart was right, and God is 

good." 
And one, a woman, who had found his arms 
An all-protecting shelter through long 

years, 
Said naught, but kissed the tokens he had 

left, 
And dreamt of heaven for his sake alone. 
Meanwhile, what was this man, and what 

his place ? 
You ask, confused by all this Babel talk 
Of here and yonder, from his fellow-men. 

82 



MASKS 

I am as ignorant as any one 

Whose speech you heard, and yet I loved 

him well. 
Nay, ask me not: ask only God. He 

knows. 

MASKS 

A certain friend of mine, whose daily praise 
Was in the mouths of men, once startled 

me 
By what he said when I, like all the rest, 
Cried up his virtues and his blameless life. 
In this wise speaking: "Stop! you mad- 
den me. 
You and the crowd but look to what I do, 
And when you find me righteous and the 

law 
Ne'er broken, why, you make a loud ac- 
claim, 
Holding me guiltless and a perfect man. 
But tell me, friend, whether of two is best: 
To let a spite eat slowly to the heart, 
Making no outward sign, rebelling not, 
Or, by an honest spurt of wrathy blood, 
To mass the hate of many brooding years 
Into one right-arm blow, and so be quits ? 

83 



DUMB IN JUNE 



To speak in terms immaculate and nice, 
Vet curse in speechless thoughts, to clean 

forswear 
All lewdness, yet go lusting secretly : 
To render weight for weight, yet grudge 

the coin 
Flung to a beggar-lad — in brief, to find 
Mv soul the nesting-place for divers sins, 
And still walk on in smug and seemly 

gu> 
I tell thee, there are times I hear a voice 
Sav very clear, though softlv, in myself: 
1 * T were better if vou sinned right openly 
Than let the vileness stew within your mind 
And pass your properness upon the world, 
Knowing the while the arch hypocrisy 
That takes the name of angel where, in- 

id, 
Devil hits nearer to the truth/ Ah me! M 
Here, staving words, he sighed a heavv 

-^; 

And, musing, on I strolled, debating how 
Mere masking tricks us all, and somewhat 

sad 
To learn the inner history of one 
Whose common title with the world was 

saint. 



THE BLEAK CT THE YEAR 



THE BLEAK CT THE YEAR 

There is a time of subtle browns, and grays 
That run to silverings, and tremulous 

greens, 
And russet tints, and ash-pale pools of 

leaves; 
Of ghostly mosses and elusive grass 
That's neither lush nor dead; of naked 

trees 
Ineffably harmonious with the sky 
That stretches vast and neutral, tone on 

tone, 
Not to be called a color, but a thought. 
To some this is a barren time, a sleep 
Between the winter and the spell of spring; 
To me it is the heart's own time and tide, 
Being hidden from the heedless eye thru 

lusts 
For flaring lights and sunset dyes, yet 

charged 
With secrets rare, and Mendings into 

dreams, 
And ecstasies divine that shadow forth 
A mystery, the Selah of the Soul. 



85 



DUMB IN JUNE 



EARLY WINTER 

Brown grass, picked out with red of bushes, 

tones 
Of silver on the fences; russet, bronze, 
The leaves of oaks and beeches; mystic 

black 
Where pools of water lie, and edged there- 
round 
The ghostly glamour of the shallow ice. 
Above, a gray-white monody of sky, 
And all between the heaven and earth a 

mist 
Of fine, fast-falling snow that makes a veil 
Wherethrough you see a mystery, a blend 
Of winter colors to a perfect whole 
That lifts the heart with beauty, does atone 
For long-withholden loveliness of June. 



86 



THE INAPPRECIABLE YEARS 



THE INAPPRECIABLE YEARS 

Like snow that falls on water seem the 

years, 
The inappreciable years that melt away 
Into Time's welter — yet, unseen, the tide 
Is swelled thereby, and haply some good 

ship 
Floated across the sand-bars into port 
That means smooth haven and a sight of 

home. 



«7 



THE ULTIMATE 

When, of old, a chief died in the North, 
Then they wrapt him close in fighting dress, 
Laid his life-worn weapons him beside, 
And, with stern and silent tenderness, 
In a boat wide-bosomed on the tide, 
Placed his death-cold body, pushed him 

forth 
Thence to drift at will of wind and fate, 
Till at last he found the Ultimate. 

Amply weapbned so, with courage grim, 
Prone along my death-boat, like to him 
I would day-long rock and roam and wait 
For a subtile turn o' tide and sea, 
For a gust o 1 wind to break and blow 
Love and land and life away from me; 
Favoring, until I glide and go 
Past each bourn and billow-boundary 
To the waters lying round my fate, 
To the windless, unoarecLUltimate. 



THE FIRST EDITION OF THIS BOOK CONSISTS 
OF FIVE HUNDRED COPIES WITH THIRTY- 
FIVE ADDITIONAL COPIES ON HAND-MADE 
PAPER PRINTED DURING NOVEMBER 189S BY 
THE EVERETT PRESS BOSTON 



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